Chapter 2

Chapter Two

ALEX

A s I storm away from Sloan, my heart pounds in my chest, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. How could she act like that in front of my parents? The embarrassment twists like a knife in my gut. I still can’t believe I slapped her; I didn’t want to go that far, especially somewhere people could witness it, but fuck , she pushed every single button I have. And all because of the situation she put me in—the situation I never wanted to be in.

Holly Grove is decked out in twinkling lights and cheerful decorations, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon and pine. But all I see is the petty judgment on Sloan’s face and how my parents looked at her, disgust and disappointment painted across their features. They expected me to bring home the good girl, the church girl, who would fit into their perfect little world. But instead, I brought home a wild child with bright red hair and a sharp fucking tongue, and now I have to pay for it.

The worst part is that I’m more pissed off about Sloan than I am worried about my parents’ judgment. I feel the pressure of their expectations every minute of every day—they expect me to be their perfect son. One they can be proud of and show off, one that makes the family and church look good.

By bringing her to dinner tonight, dressing the way she did, and then smacking her in the street in front of passersby, I did anything but that. It’s only a matter of time before my parents find out about what happened, and I have no fucking doubt I’ll hear about it.

But it’s one minor slip-up. One I know I can rectify.

Sure, Sloan knows how to give good head, and the way her ass bounces on my cock is fucking mesmerizing, but I won’t let my parents down. Not even for good pussy.

Fuck. All she had to do was behave for one fucking weekend. Just act the part until we can go back home. I warned her about how old-fashioned they are. About how seriously they take the church and their religion, but she didn’t listen.

She never fucking does.

For whatever reason, she thought it would be appropriate to dress like a goddamn stripper headed to the club for our family dinner—what did she think was going to happen? And why the hell would she think I would defend her to my parents? They’re m y fucking parents. The entire dinner was a shit show, and after, well, it just got worse. How could she expect me to disappoint them and not follow in my father’s footsteps? What’s so wrong with staying home and raising kids? That’s the wife’s fucking job. Cook, clean, give me a couple of kids, and raise them while I spread the word of God. It’s not that fucking hard. Shit, most women would beg for that kind of lifestyle.

But not her, of course.

I’m fucking embarrassed. She embarrassed me.

I reach my car, a sleek, black Mercedes-Benz S-Class, its polished exterior glimmering under the sparse streetlights, reflecting my status in this town. As the pastor’s son, I’m someone people look up to, the embodiment of my family’s values and the town’s church. I love this life, the power it gives me, and the money that flows easily into my hands.

I lean against the car, trying to catch my breath and calm the storm brewing inside me. I need to get my head straight before I go back to the cabin. She’s hurt, but she needs to understand—this is bigger than us. If she wants to be a part of my life, then she needs to meet their expectations and mine.

The streets are eerily quiet, the only sound the whisper of the wind and the soft crunch of snow underfoot. The town is empty at this time of night, not a soul walking the streets, and the cold seeps into my bones as snowflakes drift down from the dark sky. The sound of laughter and chatter from a nearby café echoes faintly in the background.

At least someone is having a good night.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the cold, crisp air. I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket, and the vibrations are fucking annoying. Like a constant reminder of all the bullshit that happened tonight and all the cleaning up I’ll have to do. It’s probably Sloan reaching out and trying to understand what just happened. But she can wait. She needs to learn and understand that in my world, a wife doesn’t get to question her husband without repercussions. That as the man in our relationship, I’ll answer her when I’m good and fucking ready.

She needs to learn her place.

Something shifts in the shadows. Before I can react, I’m blindsided. The ground rushes up to meet me; the wind is knocked out of my lungs as I crash onto the snow-covered pavement. I struggle to catch my breath, but the blows keep coming, fists raining down on me fast and hard. I can barely make sense of it all—just pain and confusion as I try to defend myself. I look up, and my vision clears just enough to see the face of my twin brother, Asher.

Asher is tall—6’3”, towering over me, with dark hair that falls into his eyes and tattoos snaking down his arms, each telling a story of rebellion and turmoil. As always, he’s dressed in black, a uniform of defiance against everything our family stands for. The last time I saw him, he was a troubled teenager acting out in ways I never understood. My chest tightens with confusion and anger as I take in the sight of him.

What the fuck is he doing here?

“Asher? What the hell are you doing?” I gasp, wincing as he kicks me in the ribs.

Asher is the family’s best-kept secret. The son that our parents made disappear to protect their image. The black sheep, the one who always fought against our parents’ expectations. They tried to help him, but he just wouldn’t let them, and the harder they tried, the harder he fought back. The last I heard, they sent him away to some program, hoping it would fix him, but it only pushed him further into darkness.

After that, they acted like he never existed, like he was just a ghost haunting the halls of our family home. They took down every photo and donated every single one of his belongings. They erased him from our lives like he was nothing, and all the pressure and expectations fell onto me. I had to be the perfect son, the perfect everything, all because he was too weak.

And now, here he is. The specter of everything I wanted to forget.

“Hello, twin. Didn’t think you’d find me lurking out here, did you? I’ve been watching you, and your pathetic life is almost laughable. You’re no better than them—spouting God’s word while leaving their own son to fend for himself. What do you think God would say about that, huh?” His tone drips with mockery, each word a sharp dagger.

The anger boils within me, a seething fury I can barely contain. Deep down, I know he’s right, and that infuriates me even more. I’ve played their twisted game for far too long, never daring to stand up for him because I was terrified of ending up shamed and treated like Asher. He’s always struggled—whether it’s a mental disability or just his chaotic wiring doesn’t matter to me anymore. Instead of helping him, they punished him, shamed him, and I just watched, too cowardly to risk my own place in their precious world.

Because why would I? He never did shit for me. I didn’t owe him anything then, and I sure as fuck don’t now.

Their scorn echoes in my mind, a relentless reminder of the brother I lost to their impossible expectations. They always looked at him like he was too much of everything—too loud, too angry, too wild—and I hated him for it. I never wanted to be anything like him, so I played the part of the perfect son, bending to their will and molding myself into their ideal. Now, I’m left here, reaping the consequences of his refusal to fall in line.

I can’t believe he’s standing in front of me now, a dark cloud looming over everything. “What the hell do you want, Asher?” I snap, my voice dripping with contempt, desperate to reclaim some semblance of control in this twisted moment.

“I want to know how it feels to watch you fall apart,” he growls, leaning over me, the tension in the air thickening. “You think you’re living the dream, huh? You’re a puppet on strings, dancing for their approval.”

“Shut up,” I manage to spit out, but it comes out weak, pathetic. I’m sprawled on the ground, unable to move. The world around me fades as I focus on the anger radiating off him.

He looms over me, eyes blazing with an intensity that scares me. “You do have one good thing, though. But, I’ll treat her better than you ever could. She deserves so much more than a cowardly little bitch boy like you. It’s laughable, honestly; you’ve had it all, Alex, and you still can’t fucking get it right.” He leans down, close enough for me to see the darkness in his gaze. “Maybe this Christmas, I can thank you for the early gift you gave me—the gift of showing me how family treats family.”

My heart races, panic clawing at my insides. “You don’t know anything about family. All you know is how to take from and use people,” I hiss, trying to push myself up, but my body feels heavy, like lead.

Asher’s hand slides into his pocket, and dread washes over me as I realize what he’s pulling out—a knife glinting in the dim light. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shout, panic rising in my chest. “Asher, come on. You’re not going to fucking kill me, cut the shit!”

But he just grins, a twisted smile that sends chills down my spine. “I think it’s time for you to know what it feels like to be discarded. Just like you did to me and just like you would’ve done to her.”

“Stop!” I plead, fear pooling in my stomach. “We can talk. We can fix this, Asher. You’re my fucking brother. Let’s be logical, please.”

“Fix it?” he cackles, the sound echoing in the night, mocking and cruel. “You think there’s anything to fix? You’re just like Mom and Dad—so afraid of what I am that you’d rather pretend I don’t exist.”

My mind races, flashing back to our childhood. I see the two of us in the backyard, the summer sun shining down on our laughter as we play. Asher is there, his eyes bright and wild as he climbs the tallest tree in our yard, daring me to follow. I want to be just like him—to be brave and free—but I can’t shake the weight of our parents’ expectations. I’ve always been the one who follows the rules, who colors within the lines while he’s always scribbled outside them, a chaotic masterpiece that nobody, not even God could ever control.

The memories hit me like a wave—how they sat me down just before starting high school, their faces drawn and serious, as they explained that Asher had to go away. They called it “help,” but I felt it in my bones that they were giving up on him and tired of his chaos. I was old enough to know people around the town were talking. He was causing problems for our family and for the church, so I knew they had no other choice but to send him away.

As I grew older, I started to see Asher for what he really was—a user. He took and took from our parents, never giving back. I remember nights spent lying awake, listening to their muffled arguments about him, their anger palpable through the walls. They wanted to help him, but nothing they did helped. Shit, if anything, he just got worse.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I say, desperation seeping into my voice.

Asher laughs a dark, hollow sound that echoes around us. “Don’t you see, little brother—it doesn’t matter what you do, you’ll never be good enough. You’ll never be perfect . Not in their eyes or the pathetic god you all bow to.”

My breath quickens, panic clawing at my chest. “You’re sick, Asher. You need help.”

He steps even closer, the knife gleaming ominously in the moonlight. “Help? They didn’t want to help me; they wanted to control me. Just like they’re controlling you.”

“Stop it! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” I shout, trying to summon some strength, but my body feels like a sack of stones.

With a surge of adrenaline, I try to push myself up, but he kicks me in the ribs, and I crash back to the ground, gasping for breath.

“Maybe this is what you need—a little reality check,” he snarls, raising the knife, and I feel my heart drop.

“Please, Asher!” I scream, fear and regret flooding through me. “We can work this out! I’m sorry for how things went down, but this isn’t the way!”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore,” he sneers, his voice low and thick with contempt. He inches closer, a wicked grin curling his lips. “You really shouldn’t be scared, Alex. Not if you’ve managed to play the perfect son, the model subject. After all, you’re destined for heaven with the god you worship. But if you’ve let a little sin slip through your fingers…” He lets the words linger, a sinister echo in the frozen air, sending a shiver racing down my spine. “Then maybe fear is exactly what you should be feeling. What would Mommy and Daddy think? How does spending eternity with the devil sound to you?”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. His words cut deeper than the blade in his hand ever could, twisting the knife of my childhood insecurities. “Asher, don’t do this,” I plead, desperation clawing at my insides. “You’re better than this!”

“Better?” he echoes, his laughter tinged with madness. “You think I want to be better? I’m tired of pretending, Alex. You were my brother. My fucking twin . If anyone was supposed to have my back, it was you, and I’m tired of you thinking you can walk away from what you’ve done.”

The darkness closes in around us, heavy and suffocating, as if the night itself is eager to swallow me whole. My twin’s twisted smile is the last thing I see before he lunges forward, the blade glinting coldly in the light. I feel a sharp, searing pain slice through my abdomen, a brutal intrusion that steals the breath from my lungs.

I gasp, a strangled cry escaping my lips, but it’s drowned out by the icy wind that howls around us. My vision blurs, colors and twinkling lights swirling as I struggle to process the reality of what’s happening. This can’t be how it ends.

Lowering my trembling hand to my stomach, the blood seeps through my fingers, warm and sticky, contrasting against the cold. Pain radiates from the wound, sharp and consuming, like fire coursing through my veins. I can feel my strength draining away, the darkness creeping closer, pulling me under.

“Guess all those prayers didn’t mean a damn thing,” he sneers, his voice low and venomous. “Tell me, Alex—where’s your God now?”

With those words echoing in my ears, the edges of my vision darken, and everything goes black.